Warmth
by HazelEyesDontTellLies
Summary: Draco decides to shave Hermione. Dark. Nonconsensual. Angst. Nothing too graphic. Not very romantic, if we're being honest. Probably one-shot.


**Warmth: Draco decides to shave Hermione. Dark. Nonconsensual. Angst. Nothing too graphic. **

_X_

She was his lover in the night - times he recalled fondly filled with harshness and biting and bruising grips across her hips and his lips across her slim neck.

She was his pet in chilly winter mornings, seated on his lap with him stroking her spine when he _just_ couldn't seem to get warm enough and so he'd bring her _closer._

She was his sweetheart, his little bird, when dawn broke and he was curled up against her nakedness with the smell of her eating up his soul.

Yes, Hermione Granger was many things to Draco – she didn't want to be any of them.

But Draco Malfoy always got what he wanted, and when he finally decided – after years of hating the little mudblood _bitch_ and her smile and himself for thinking it was pretty – he said, "To hell with it," and snatched her away from the rest of the world.

Potter, Weasley, his father and Voldemort be damned. And Granger…well Draco Malfoy _always_ got what he wanted so she didn't really have a say in the matter, did she?

On one of those freezing winter mornings, his pretty pet had been shaking, from tears or cold, _shivering_ on his thigh. Goosebumps traced her naked legs, and Draco sighed, tossing aside his paper.

If he didn't do something about it, her tears would freeze to her face.

Draco carried her up the stairs, to the bath, like a bride.

He treated her like a child.

While he leaned over the claw foot to turn on the faucet, Hermione stood there with her knees shaking together in an oversized green sweater. It was his – so enormous she all but disappeared in it.

It was all he'd given her to wear, despite the cold. But it covered most of her thighs and the extra-long sleeves were good for muffling sobs. She did so, hugging herself tightly like she might break.

But then Draco stopped the faucet and deemed the water sufficient, and she had to stop. He didn't like it when she cried.

"Come here," his voice was so soft, almost kind. Hermione _hated_ when he did that – tried to trick her with gentle words and hands when she _knew_ what he was capable of.

But Hermione did step forward, and knew better than to stop until she reached him. Even kneeling, he was intimidating.

Draco grabbed the hem of the sweater and shimmied it off her, his cool knuckles skimming her sides.

As if he was helping her into a carriage, he took her hand so she could step in and Hermione immediately brought her knees to her chin. Draco could have seen her a hundred times and Hermione would still feel uneasy – she always felt that way with him and though she still shook, at least she wasn't cold.

With the sleeves of his shirt rolled, he brought out a glass pitcher and poured the water gently over her hair and scrubbed her until she was spotless and her hair smelled like fruit.

Hermione didn't notice a thing until the water began to drain sluggishly slow. When she tried to scramble out, Draco stopped her.

"Ah-ah." He teased. "We're not done yet."

Hermione felt filthy all over again, but rather than crawling in with her he got up and left the room. She knew better than to be grateful for small favors.

The water was gone and she was starting to get cold again. And she really just wanted to get out of that tub. But she couldn't make herself.

_Some Gryffindor. Too scared to get out of a tub. _

Draco came back smiling and the heat left Hermione's body completely when she saw what was in his hands. It was a switch-blade raiser and a bottle of shaving cream.

Hermione brought her legs closer to her.

Draco tsked. "Come on, pretty bird. You know better."

Hermione let out a sob she hadn't even felt coming and then there were more, shuddering hiccupping tears that wracked her whole body. Hermione knew she was speaking, pleading him, but couldn't quite hear the words.

Draco ignored her, bending over the tub where she was curled and parted her legs. But the tub was too narrow, and without him getting in Draco was at an impossible angle.

So finally Draco moved her so she was on her back with her legs lifted so they each danged over the tubs edge where they hung limp like a rag doll's.

Satisfied, he set the raiser on the tubs edge and with his other hand spread the foam between her legs.

Hermione was making weak and guttural whimpers, trying not to sob but when he made the first stroke with his blade she lost control.

"No, no!" She cried, shooting up. With tears in her eyes she begged him. "No, Draco, _please_ don't. _Please_."

"Lay down."

"_Please!" _

"_I said lay DOWN!" _

Hermione winced but did what he told her, grimacing in discomfort until it became too much and she start to wail hideously.

It wasn't that it was painful, it wasn't at all. Which was what really put her over the edge. Each brush from the cool blade was exact and quick and harmless and gentle. She could feel his breath on her while he shaved her and she felt sick because it felt _good._

"Stop crying."

Hermione couldn't.

"Damnit, Hermione, stop crying or I might cut you!"

That shut her up.

The noise of raisers against hair ceased and Hermione felt one last warm breath on her lips and knew he was done. She didn't wait for him to tell her to sit up.

"See?" said Draco, running his fingers over her. "Smooth."

And then he picked her up out of the tub like a bride again and Hermione wrapped her arms around his shoulders like a child because that was what he wanted her to do and that was what she _needed_ right now.

Draco didn't bother picking up the green sweater. She wouldn't need it.

**_X_**

**Yeah, I don't even know what this is and it's actually pretty fucked up. So sorry about that. **


End file.
